Читать книгу Small Farm Warriors - G. S. Willmott - Страница 4

A group of Australian Diggers sat beside the Albert-Bapaume Road, having marched from Albert that morning.

George Harris was the quasi-leader of the group of six friends who had survived the hell of Gallipoli, the oppressive heat of Cairo and German artillery so far. Now, they were on their way to who knows where.

‘Hey George, have you got any fucking idea where we’re going?’ asked Sam Wilson.

‘No fucking idea, mate, but I can guess it’s not a luxury chateaux with a swimming pool and beautiful woman serving up ice-cold beers.’

‘That’s a shame. I think that’d be rather pleasant, better than the old rat- infested barn they billeted us in at Albert.’

‘Isn’t that the bloody truth. Speaking of Albert, wasn’t that bloody church weird. The Virgin Mary leaning like that, she must have got a fucking good hit from the Krauts.’

‘Yeah, don’t know how she hangs on.’

‘Divine intervention if you ask me, cobber, she defies the laws of gravity.’

The Leaning Virgin at Albert

The boys had about forty minutes rest, having marched for the previous three hours in full pack. It was now time to march again. Sergeant Tim Warburton was moving along the row of diggers, ordering them to get off their arses and onto their feet, ready for the next stage of the march. One digger, Mick Dwyer, protested in jest that he needed a longer break.

‘Come on, Sergeant, can’t we have another fifteen minutes? We’re buggered.’

‘No; you fucking can’t. I don’t know why you’re complaining. you’ll probably be dead in an hour or so. Get up and fall into line.’

Taking a Break

Once the five hundred men of the 1^st Battalion of the 1^st Division of the Australian Imperial Force were in formation, they headed off to hell, not that they were sure where this particular hell was.

The hell was the village of Pozières or rather their objective was to capture the village. They had another day’s march before reaching their target. They would be footsore and weary when they arrived to fight one of the most intense and costly battles fought by the Australians on the Western Front.

George recounted his experiences in a diary.

‘We came across some Tommy units returning for a rest. They waved as they marched back into Albert. I think the wave meant “go get em sucker”. Quite a number of the Brits were wearing German helmets, which they had got as war trophies. We were halted on a grassy patch, with a number of other Australian units, at a place where there was a low ridge between the firing line and us. It was a pretty spot, blazing with red poppies, and sprinkled with the blue and yellow of other flowers.

There was a lot of traffic on the roads, including vehicles of all kinds, limbers, transports, handcarts, guns, and traction engines, besides horses and troops. A couple of big naval guns a few hundred yards behind us opened up once and fired a few shells back over our heads. They were fucking loud, shooting a blinding flash as they fired. There were other guns about firing occasionally also. We scored a mug of tea from a Tommy travelling kitchen nearby, God bless them.

A couple of huge 9-inch guns came along, drawn by large traction engines with caterpillar wheels. That’ll put the wind up the Krauts.

At about roughly 10.30p.m. the Machine Gun Section got a move on, the other units having all proceeded towards the front. Eventually, we arrived at our destination if you could call it that… but at least we could rest for a while before the attack.

We had just got comfy when we were ordered to get up and get into formation. Apparently, we had been marching down the wrong fucking road. God help us if our officers can’t even work out what road we’re meant to be on.’

As they marched, Bluey Herbert started up, Waltzing Matilda, and soon the whole battalion joined in, singing their unofficial national anthem. Once they had all sung their favourite song half a dozen times or so Jimmy Wallis started up the derivative;

Fighting the Kaiser, fighting the Kaiser,

Who'll come a-fighting the Kaiser with me?

And we'll drink all his beer,

And eat up all his sausages,

Who'll come a fighting the Kaiser with me!

Albert Grimshaw, one of the band of six, yelled out at the top of his voice, ‘German bomber nine o’clock!’

Everybody around him jumped into the drain running beside the road. Soon the message was relayed to the entire battalion and men were jumping into the drain on either side of the road. The AEG G.IV came in low and dropped bombs along their lines, killing eight diggers with the first pass. One of those killed was young Mick Dwyer. The irony!

The noise was enormous but worse was the sight of arms, legs, and heads flying through the air.

The bomber did a wide turn and headed back, dropping several bombs, following the road to the point where the first soldiers in the line were cowering in the ditch. Thirty diggers lost their lives that day, but there was much worse to come.

AEG GVI

The 1st Battalion Marching to Pozières

The Battalion had lost their motivation to sing, and they now needed to bury their dead, including all the bits and pieces strewn around the road and in the ditch.

‘This is depressing, Percy, digging graves for our mates. For God’s sake, we haven’t even made it into battle yet!’ a dejected Dick Ruby complained.

‘Yeah it’s the pits; poor buggers didn’t stand a chance. Fucking Germans; just wait until we face them in a real bloody fight, then they’ll know it! It’s a lot different feeling cold steel in your belly than dropping bombs from a fucking plane.’

Once the gravedigging had been completed, the diggers were ordered into formation two abreast and continued their march in solemn silence.

After about two hours, Albert Grimshaw starting singing, Pack up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag. Gradually, each soldier in the battalion joined in, and the stride of their steps became more purposeful.

Albert, encouraged by the response, began singing, It’s a Long Way to Tipperary, and again the diggers joined in. These songs lifted everybody’s spirits.

At dusk, they reached their rest spot for the night, the small village of La Boiselle. They secured a number of houses for billeting, and several large barns. Some of the diggers preferred to sleep under the stars instead of sharing their lodgings with a mob of hungry rats.

The usual meal of bully beef and tea was on the menu for all.

Nobody got good night’s sleep; the sound of artillery in the distance and the trepidation they felt for the days ahead wasn’t conducive to sleeping.

The next morning, the tired diggers woke to the familiar sounds of Reveille. Reluctantly, they staggered out to partake of a delicious breakfast of bully beef and tea, and once breakfast was devoured, they were called into formation for the final leg of the march to Pozières.

‘Well, boys, another day of marching down this bloody road. I’ll tell you what, I’m looking forward to stopping in one place for a while and killing me some Boche,’ George announced.

‘I’m with you, cobber. There’s nothing more boring than marching for eight bloody hours, not to mention how sore my fucking feet are. I’m sure they issued me with the wrong size boots,’ complained Percy Smith.

The further they marched, the louder the sound of the artillery became until the diggers couldn’t hear themselves speak. They tried singing, but that was useless too. They just trudged along the road, knowing that the front was getting closer and closer.

As they neared the front line, they began passing dead soldiers lying beside the road. These were once warriors, but now they were dead bodies twisted in grotesque positions with blackened faces and hands. They had probably been there for over a week judging by how bloated they were. Their loved ones wouldn’t like to see them like this. Back home, they would be referred to as “one of the fallen”, a more poetic description.

At last, they reached Command Head Quarters; if a couple of dugouts could be described as HQ.

The Lieutenant commanding the 1^st, 2^nd and 3^rd Battalions was Captain William Bannister, a solicitor back home, and regarded as a fine commander and soldier. His orders from Major General Walker were to make his troops ready for an attack within twenty-four hours. His orders in turn came from General Gough. Major Walker argued that the 1^st Division had just arrived at the front having marched from Albert. His argument was based on the fact the men were exhausted and would put up a better fight if they were rested.

General Gough, known for his gung-ho approach, insisted on attacking the following night. The recipe for slaughter had begun, a recipe Gough would use throughout the war.

The attack was launched on 23 July 1916; this was to become known as the Battle of Pozières Ridge. Australian and British forces fought hard for an area that comprised a relatively high observation post over the surrounding countryside. There was also the additional benefit of offering an alternative approach to the rear of the Thiepval defences where the Germans were entrenched.

The Australian 1st Division Anzac Corps, having served in Gallipoli, was primarily given the task of capturing Pozières Ridge. This had been an objective for capture on the first day of the Somme Offensive; an objective that was never realised. The Australians succeeded in capturing the ridge by the 4th of August, having launched their offensive almost two weeks earlier. The British 48th Division assisted them in the attack.

The Australian diggers succeeded in capturing Pozières village itself, after which they moved across the main road to “Gibraltar”, a German strong point. A mere two hundred yards separated the Australians from Pozières Ridge. The attack’s main objective, it was heavily defended by the securely entrenched German troops. Two lines of trenches needed to be overcome before the ridge could be claimed. This action created a heavy toll on the Australian and British troops, and the Germans didn’t fare much better.

Later on that first day, 23rd July, the British 17th Warwickshire Regiment joined the Australians to the north-west of Pozières village. The Germans weren’t going anywhere; they defended the ridge valiantly.

The 2nd Australian Division subsequently relieved their comrades and continued the attack on the ridge for a further four days before they too were relieved. Allied casualties at this stage were running at a costly three thousand five hundred.

The ridge finally fell after almost two weeks of bitter fighting on the 4th of August. However, both Mouquet Farm and Thiepval remained under German control. General Gough insisted that his troops take these two targets and persisted with this plan, resulting in twenty-three thousand Australian casualties. Gough came under Australian criticism for his persistence in pushing the advance for five weeks. Growing scepticism of the quality of British leadership had already intensified following the notable failure of an earlier battle at Fromelles, west of Lille, on 19-20 July by the Australian 5th Division, intended to divert German attention away from the Somme.

During the Battle of Fromelles, the Australians suffered five thousand, seven hundred and eight casualties, of which a total of four thousand were fatalities; a further four hundred were captured and marched by the Germans through Lille. Their lives as prisoners of war were about to begin.

George Harris was exhausted and fed up with what seemed to be futile battles and horrendous casualties. This was not what he had signed up for, having left his mother and father and his little sister behind to try to look after the farm in the Mallee, Victoria, to fight for King and country. It didn’t feel as if he was doing that, more like fighting for bloody incompetent British Generals like Gough.

General Gough